All His Families
by CravingHoneydukes
Summary: A few moments passed before he said anything. "Oh, Ginny, this is the best thing anyone's ever done for me."


**Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Harry Potter, but oh, how I would love to.**

Harry Potter woke up to the sun streaming into his room and across the green walls from his window. He dragged a hand across his face and yawned. The birds twittered in the trees, and he could already smell the bacon Mrs. Weasley was no doubt frying. Shouts drifted up the stairs.

"No, Ronald! Don't wake him up!"

"But MUM! It's his birthday! Eighteen years old!"

"He needs his sleep!"

By this time, Harry was already creeping down the rickety stairs, and the squeaks didn't go unnoticed by the family in the kitchen. Hermione barreled around the doorframe and sagged against it as she breathlessly said, "Good morning, Harry. Happy eighteenth!"

He grinned and gave her a gentle hug. "Thanks 'Mione."

"OI! Mate! Happy birthday!" Ron strode toward him and handed him a shabbily-wrapped gift, which Mrs. Weasley promptly took out of his hand and placed on the already-huge pile of presents.

Ginny spoke from the table. "Seems like everyone in the whole world decided to send you something."

"Including you?"

"Of course, git. Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, I dunno. You didn't last year."

Her eyes narrowed. "I did, and you know it."

He grinned and slipped his arms around her in a tight hug. "I do know."

Someone cleared their throat behind them. Mrs. Weasley suddenly bustled forth and engulfed him in the largest hug he had ever been given. "Happy birthday, dear. We'll open your gifts after supper, hm?"

"Definitely, Mrs. Weasley."

She patted his cheek clumsily before she hurried to finish breakfast.

.:*:.

The rest of Harry's birthday was filled with birthday wishes, supper, a cake (three-tiered, even though Harry had asked for a simple white cake), gifts, hugs, tears (from Hermione and Mrs. Weasley), slaps and pats on the back (from the men), and sloppy toddler kisses from Teddy. Merlin, how Harry loved those sloppy toddler kisses.

Near the end of the night, Ginny pulled Harry into the kitchen. "I wanted to give you your present in here." She handed him a blue parcel, which he opened to reveal a scrapbook.

The first few pages held pictures of his parents, smiling and waving to the camera, and several photos featured a baby version of him. "Gin…where'd you find these?"

"Grimmauld Place. They were stashed in a forgotten bureau. Spent hours looking for them. Mum had mentioned she saw some last time we were all there. You know, for the Order."

Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her. "Thanks, Ginny."

"Wait, there's more." She turned the next few pages for him. All the pictures were of he and his friends, including, but not limited to, Ron and Hermione.

He felt tiny prickles in his eyes, but refused to cry. "Ginny…"

"And look, I even put some of the family." Here, many pictures of the Weasleys gazed up at him and waved frantically. He even saw Fred in several.

"And…" she trailed off.

"And what?"

"Us."

There were several pages full of photos where he and Ginny were laughing, smiling like crazy, conked out on the couch—"That one was Charlie's doing"—making a mess in the kitchen and being shooed out by Ginny's mother, laying in the grass, and walking through the orchard at sunset.

He sniffed, and she looked at him. "Harry, are you _crying_?"

"No, my eyes are just sweating," he said. A few moments passed before he said anything. "Oh, Ginny, this is the best thing anyone's ever done for me."

She laughed softly and then turned to the last pages. They were all blank.

"And these are for your future family. So you can keep all your families close to you."

He stared at them, and then softly closed the book and set it down on the counter. Without words, he pulled her into yet another hug and kissed the top of her head sweetly. "You have no idea how much this means to me. How much _you_ mean to me."

"Same here, Harry."

And so, Harry's eighteenth birthday ended with he and Ginny embracing and looking at the twinkling stars out the window above the sink, his new photo album lying on the counter beside them.


End file.
